His joy was, in some respects, even greater than that of his son. The latter had always pictured to himself that, if he ever discovered his father, he should find him all that was good; but the colonel had, for many years, not only given up all hope of ever finding his son, but almost every desire to do so. He had thought that, if still alive, he must be a gipsy vagabond--a poacher, a liar, a thief--like those among whom he would have been brought up. From such a discovery, no happiness could be looked for; only annoyance, humiliation, and trouble. To find his son, then, all that he could wish for--a gentleman, a most promising young officer, the man, indeed, to whom he had been so specially attracted--was a joy altogether unhoped and unlooked for. Morning had broken before the newly united father and son had done their long and happy talk, and they separated only to take a bath, to prepare them for the day's work. The astonishment of everyone was unbounded when Colonel Ripon announced, on the following morning, that in Captain Gale of the 66th--who, it was known, had risen from the ranks--he had discovered a son that had been stolen from him, as a child. No one entertained a doubt, for an instant, that any mistake had arisen; for the likeness between the two men, as they strode down the street together, on their way to General Roberts' quarters, was so marked that--now that men knew the relationship--none doubted for a moment that they were, indeed, father and son. The warmest congratulations poured in upon them, from all sides; and from none more heartily than from the general, who was more than ever pleased that he had been the means of Will's obtaining his commission from the ranks. The same day Colonel Ripon sent off, by a mounted messenger carrying despatches, a telegram to be sent from the nearest station of the flying line--which the engineers advancing with General Phayre's force had already carried as far as the Kojak Pass--to the government of India; asking leave to go home, at once, on the most urgent and pressing family business. Yossouf's grief, when he heard that his master was going to leave for England, was very great. At first, he begged that he might accompany him; but Tom pointed out that--much as he should like to have him with him--his position in England would be an uncomfortable one. He would meet with no one with whom he could converse; and would, after a time, long for his own country again. Yossouf yielded to his reasoning; and the picture which Will drew of his own loneliness when in Cabul, separated from all his own people, aided greatly in enforcing his arguments on his mind. He said however that, at any rate, he would not return to Afghanistan, at present. "It will be long," he said, "before things settle down there; and it will be useless for me to put my money into a herd which might be driven off by plunderers, the next week.